Saint Queen Dada

she thumps across carpet like a feisty kitten
she moves through rooms like a fairy –
lost in the shrinkwrapped forest of reality
she pops the bubble wrap and dances
like there is a fiesta hiding in her headphones
and everyone is invited

she is green forest burning from skull
red lake on fire in a clearing in the blur
oceans of mastadons rising clinking tusks
crimson rivers swarming like bees
through transparent skin
pulsing like eyes dilated

she manifesto the dizzy dance of time
she rock around the clock
she ornament the christmas tree
she stand on top of the turtle’s back
from a golden throne of feathers and bees
shouting her queenly commands
to a sea of deaf dolphins

she illustrates the spaces between bricks
cuts at the fabric of life with sharp nails
she takes two palms and squeezes life lemons
and makes a modge podge colosseum
of noise and thunderous thunder

Stupid Flowers, the first book of poetry by Brice Maiurro coming soon through Punch Drunk Press.